


Imagine This Review - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

by SeeNashWrite



Series: SeeNashWrite: The Best of the Shorts [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 09:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13028460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: One of my myriad "Imagination Sanitation" pieces, which is what happens at Tumblr when I - or one of my many witty enablers - stumble upon an "Imagine" premise that is so utterly stupefying, I can't help but adopt it & dip it in the bucket of snark I keep by my desk.This round's prompt?  - "Imagine Sam making home videos."





	Imagine This Review - See Nash Write: The Best of the Shorts

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE the 1st: This is right up there with the nuttiest things I've ever created. And I'm including the images so you get the full effect. Spit-take level is high. You've been warned.
> 
> NOTE the 2nd: When I say "Teen & Up" on this one, I'm not talking I-just-got-out-of-7th-grade. I'm talking you're a junior/senior in high school. It's not dirty enough to be "Mature", but it ain't without innuendo & talk that walks the line, okay? Okay.

_[No, really - full review below]_

* * *

From the way-too-dim or way-too-bright lighting, to the clearly unprofessional stunt choreography, to the jittery hand-cam (operated by someone credited as @KansasCooterThug79 who is, based on the frequent burp-chuckle combos,  _completely_ inebriated), the 4 ½-hour ass-disaster of a largely unedited opus entitled “Furry Cock Jockey - Moose Bang: The Beginning” is time this reviewer will never get back.

The leading lady (credited as “Discount Hurley”) is a poorly-made, distracting casting choice, as she appears to be anywhere from a decade to fifteen years younger than her co-star. She is introduced in the inexplicably Skynyrd-backed opening sequence, lamenting her inability to read real good, then writhing in frustration atop a collection of antique books in a basement library setting, donned in a flannel shirt and stretched-out, faded, pink satin panties that have clearly - even despite the lack of HD resolution - seen better days. Her introductory dialogue consists of moaning “THE LORE!” repeatedly, only to ultimately scream in an octave normally associated with seagulls in heat who have ingested the finest New Jersey boardwalk meth, when our male lead, the eponymous he-of-jockeying-and-banging (credited as “Winchester, Jumbo-Size”) appears in a meticulously-constructed moose ensemble, featuring antlers and a split-crotch.

The plot - if one might  _call_ such a retinal-burning, synapse-melting glimpse into the garish pageantry of a fantasy come to life in the filmmakers’ down time a “plot” - regards a massive moose seeking to woo the constantly pouting-and-lip-nibbling hunter by assisting her in the aforementioned advanced process of reading good, so that she may find a monster-killing answer of some sort, which seems counter-intuitive as one would think it is  _he_  whom she hunts. Perhaps this was an attempt at irony, though it is objectively doubtful. We then learn that the opening scene was but a flashback, which was contained in a vision brought on by a cocktail involving - per a label on a re-purposed Cool Whip container - “Djinn Juice”, which was in turn wrapped inside a fever dream that began after mainlining powdered nun bone.

It is at this point we will dispense with recapping the many failed attempts at activities involving cars - including, but not limited to, an obscene amount of foiled hood-slide attempts - chiefly because the filmmakers were evidently unaware that as fun an idea as it may be to receive a hummer whilst perched upon the hood of a tricked-out muscle-car whose engine is  _also_  humming, doing this for too long in an enclosed place - like, say, an underground garage - is a one-way ticket to carbon monoxide town.

The title-teased “bang” occurs late in the film, as a copious amount of run-time following the re-emergence from CO comas was spent on hair-washing scenes utilizing cruelty-free product, and making protein-powder-filled, “grass”-colored (yes,  _that_  breed of grass) smoothies, all admirably accomplished, given the hoofs. Following the beach waves achievement unlock, and post-smoothie consumption, the actual intercourse itself began. It was some bizarre amalgam of seizure activity and self-loathing, though the filmmakers were clear to establish consent - the only non-grunt verbalization by the almost-fellated furry beyond frequent, frustrated chastisement of Mr. CooterThug’s physical proximity to the action at any given point in the film - thereby earning the lone star in this reviewer’s rating.

While our policy at The NWR is to avoid spoilers, we make an exception here, to tell you the film’s climax. Sadly, the film’s  _only_  climax. It trails off as the camera falls to the floor, an empty beer bottle landing in frame, though we eventually see the leading lady’s sneakers walking across, hear her announce around what must have been an enormous wad of chewing gum that her cab was outside, subsequently inquiring as to where  _“the fuck [her] fifty bucks is at”_. A crumpled bill is thrown into view and, finally, a slurred voice demands a response to the age old question:  _“Sweetheart, you didn’t take my panties, did you? Swee…. sw…. BITCH! YOU HEAR ME?!”_  The cap-off is a hard cut to black, followed by the credits, which were merely a still of the names of the participants carved into a table. Also, a rudimentary representation of a penis.

You can find this movie somewhere, we here at The NashHole Writing Room have no goddamned clue, ask the 30% of viewers who found it of some worth. Don’t ask the 70% who began stabbing themselves around the time the antler-play got too nauseating, and huffing kerosene when the barrel of organic lube rolled out, all whilst praying for the chariots to carry them away, didn’t matter to where. The slightly-damaged VHS copy we used for viewing was received, unsolicited, in the mail. After we threw it into the dumpster following the first five minutes of what was possibly a precursor film involving a 6-foot-and-change-tall squirrel and his nuts, which  _this_  film was apparently filmed atop (after all, even Monet reused canvases), it resurfaced on various NWR employees’ windshields and on NashHole Headquarters’ front porch with enough regularity to prompt this review, in the hopes this will settle the matter. 

No return address or phone number was provided, the title only known because it was scrawled along the side of the tape in what must be noted as the handwriting of a serial killer if we’d ever seen it. As there was no case, there was no cover art - save a smaller, delicately etched reproduction of the aforementioned penis - so the graphics department here at The NWR has edited down a suitable-for-work version of what we suspect was an attempt at said cover art by the filmmakers ( _see above_ ), sent to us by the now-defunct email hentai_fapper@discreetfairyrentals.com.  

Do not contact us for the NSFW version.

On a more personal note, this reviewer has a palpable amount of existential dread regarding the intimation in the title - if this is only the beginning, may whatever gods exist have mercy on our souls.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed. -Nash


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